Family
by pirateoftherings
Summary: One year post-AWE. Will may not be able to set foot on land for ten years, but no such rule exists for the crewmen. UPDATED: Bootstrap relays the news to Will.
1. Family

**A/N:** So it's been almost five years since I last posted anything. I'm not even sure if anyone uses this site any more, especially for PotC stuff. But I was cleaning out my computer and came across this half-finished story, and it was just begging me to finish it. So I took it out, cleaned it up, and gave it a proper ending. I like it, personally - I think it's a conversation that needed to happen. So... yes. If you do happen to read this, reviews would be greatly appreciated. I don't do much in the way of fanfic any more, but I am still a writer, and feedback is a writer's best friend. Thanks!

(Also, if you have as much of a soft spot for Bootstrap as I do, feel free to check out some of my earlier oneshots. They have cuteness and angst and father/son moments and stuff.)

* * *

Bootstrap stood at the door of the cottage, assessing it to make sure he had the right one. It was small but sturdy, with a low stone wall around it and a few flowers growing along the short path. It matched the description given to him by a nearby neighbor, but he worried that he might still discover that he'd come all this way for nothing.

At length, he convinced himself that he was being foolish and knocked twice on the door.

"Who is it?" a young woman called from inside.

"I'm looking for an Elizabeth Turner."

The door eased open a few inches. The woman's expression was mildly suspicious as she looked out, but it turned to a surprised smile the moment her eyes reached his face.

"Bootstrap!" she exclaimed, opening the door fully. "I had wondered if you might visit, but I didn't dare to hope. Please, come in."

He assessed the kitchen as he stepped inside. It was small but not uncomfortably so, with everything in reasonably good order. She seemed to be doing well enough for herself.

Elizabeth shut the door and turned to face him. "How is he?"

"He's fine. Misses you something fierce, of course, but this job suits him. I'd have come much sooner, but he released any men who didn't wish to continue serving on the _Dutchman_. It was a noble thing to do – and the right thing – but it left us shorthanded for a good while. We could only barely spare a crewman even now."

"I would imagine you've had your work cut out for you."

"Aye. Will's been handling it well, but even so, I imagine the next nine years will hardly make a dent in the mess left behind by Jones."

For a brief moment, Elizabeth turned and looked out the window toward the sea, but then she seemed to realize that they were still standing in the middle of the room.

"I'm sorry – please, have a seat." She gestured toward the table that sat against one wall. "Do you drink tea? I'd offer something stronger, but I'm afraid I don't have anything on hand at the moment."

"Tea's fine," he said, lowering himself into one of the chairs. He watched as she filled a kettle with water, then cleared his throat. "To be honest, I wasn't sure you'd recognize me, what with my being coherent and devoid of sea life."

She glanced over her shoulder at him before hanging the kettle above the fire. "So you remember when we met?"

"Aye." This wasn't a comfortable subject for him to discuss, but he'd brought it up on purpose. There were things that needed to be said. "I wasn't in my right mind, clearly, and didn't know what was happening at the time, but I remember. It's just… distorted. Like I'm watching through a piece of warped glass."

"It's in the past," Elizabeth said, retrieving two cups from the cabinet. "Whatever happened then, it doesn't matter now."

"It matters to me." He paused, searching for the right words. "Will would have sent me regardless, seeing as I'm family, but I asked to come. What happened that night was inexcusable."

"Bootstrap-"

"I could have fought Jones for longer. I'd done it for years, only when I thought I'd lost Will to the Kraken…" Nothing else had seemed to matter any more. It had been easier to give in, to welcome the numbness. Clearing his throat, he pressed on. "But that's not what's important. The thing is, I wanted to ask your forgiveness for my actions. I've already obtained his."

She spun around to face him. "You've seen James?"

"Aye, a few months back."

"Is he-?"

"He's at peace."

At that moment, the kettle began whistling, and Elizabeth quickly turned to tend to it, but not before Bootstrap saw the tears in her eyes. By the time she carried the tray over to the table, she'd regained her composure.

"You have it, of course," she said as she set the tray down. "My forgiveness. As you said, you weren't in your right mind."

"Thank you."

Elizabeth offered him a thin smile and placed one of the teacups before him. "Do you take your tea with sugar?"

To be perfectly honest, Bootstrap had never cared much for tea, though Kate had had an inexplicable fondness for it. He was fairly certain the last time he'd sat and had a cup like a civilized person was whenever she had last persuaded him to join her. "Without is fine."

She poured a cup for each of them, then sat down across the table. "This tea is part of the _Empress_'s latest spoils. I'm proud to say that it came straight from the holds of an East India Trading Company ship."

"Are they still maintaining a presence?"

"Somewhat. The absence of Beckett has made them substantially less of a threat, but the battle cost them relatively little in the way of ships or men. It's been nothing that we can't handle, though."

Bootstrap took a sip of tea to be polite and found that it wasn't as revolting as he recalled. The taste was foreign but familiar at the same time, something from a life long forgotten.

"You're still responsible for the _Empress_, then, I take it," he said after a moment. "Will and I had thought that was where I would find you, but no such luck."

"I sailed for about a month after the battle; after that I had Tai Huang take over for me. I haven't been in much of a condition to sail lately, but they're loyal and still answer to me. We've been living comfortably enough off the income."

"We?"

Before she could reply, a sound came from the other room that Bootstrap hadn't heard in over twenty years: the piercing cry of an infant.

"Excuse me for a moment," Elizabeth said, then stood and disappeared through the doorway. She returned moments later with a smile, cradling a bundle of cloth that had a few wisps of light brown hair peeking out the top. "Bootstrap, I'd like for you to meet your grandson, William Weatherby Turner."

"My grand-" The word caught in his throat as he got to his feet and looked down in wonder at the child in Elizabeth's arms. As Bootstrap reached out with one finger, William clasped on tightly. "He's strong."

"Yes. He's been growing very quickly lately. Would you like to hold him?"

Bootstrap nodded and awkwardly took the small bundle into his arms. God's wounds, he had a grandson! Awestruck, he marveled at the perfection he now held – William's inquisitive brown eyes, the way his lips moved to make small cooing sounds. It didn't seem possible that his own son had ever been this tiny, though it must have been true at some point.

"Is everything alright?" asked Elizabeth.

He reached up to his right cheek and discovered that a tear had escaped. Brushing it away roughly, he smiled at her. "Aye. It's just that two years ago, I knew for certain I'd never see my son again, and now…"

Words failed him.

William, apparently deciding that whoever was holding him wasn't going to meet his present needs, began to fuss again. Bootstrap reluctantly handed him back to Elizabeth.

"It's near his usual feeding time," she said apologetically, rocking her son gently back and forth to sooth him. "Normally he's very agreeable."

"It's fine. Will never liked for me to hold him, either." He watched William for a moment longer, then shook his head in disbelief. "He'll be overjoyed."

"Just please be careful to break the news to him gently. And make sure he knows that we're doing well on our own. I'm sure he'll manage to feel guilty for not being here, even if it can't be helped."

Bootstrap opted to say nothing regarding Will's own experience growing up with an absent father. "You should feed him," he said with a nod toward William, "and I should be off."

"Already? But you've only just arrived."

"I'd stay if I could, but we still need all the hands we can get on the _Dutchman_. I'm sure with this latest bit of news, though, Will'll have me going back and forth at every opportunity."

"Please do. You're always welcome in our home, no matter what the hour."

"You have my word that I'll come as often as I'm able." He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "I nearly forgot, what with the surprise announcement – this is from him. I can't stay long enough for a reply, but I'll aim to check in on the both of you within the month."

Elizabeth eagerly grabbed the letter and was poring over its contents even as she carried William to the back room. When she didn't return immediately, Bootstrap decided to let himself out. He had no sooner reached the door, however, than he felt a hand on his arm.

"Will you give him this?" Elizabeth asked, handing him a folded handkerchief. Closer inspection of its contents revealed that it held a few strands of her own hair and a few strands of William's. "I know it probably seems an odd thing to send, but…"

"I'm sure he'll cherish it," Bootstrap assured her. He carefully folded the package again, then tucked it into his coat pocket. "Now, I really must go."

She nodded. "Thank you. For everything."

He gave her a faint smile and briefly placed one hand on top of hers. "That's what family's for."


	2. Son

**A/N:** So I only thought this was a one-shot. As soon as I finished the story with Bootstrap and Elizabeth, I knew I had to write the other conversation that would inevitably follow. They both work fine on their own, but I've paired them together because I think it works even better. There is a small (emphasis: _small_) chance that I will continue writing one-shots based on the premise of Bootstrap visiting William and Elizabeth over the years, but I make no promises. (The last time I committed to a long-term project, _Adequate_ happened.) If I do write them, though, this is where they'll be posted. Ultimately, it'll come down to whether inspiration strikes and whether I feel there's sufficient demand to justify the time commitment, but keep a weather eye on the horizon. :)

* * *

"I have a son," Will repeated, not quite able to believe that his ears had relayed his father's words correctly the first time.

"Aye." Bootstrap seemed uneasy, opening his mouth several times before he actually spoke again. "Will, I realize this may be a bit difficult for you to accept…"

Will let out a short, incredulous laugh. One thing he had learned over the past year was that his father had a remarkable gift for understatement. To say that learning he had a son was "a bit difficult" was akin to saying that the sea was a bit wet, or that Jack Sparrow was a bit prone to eccentricity.

Running a hand through his hair, he abruptly stood up and began pacing around the cabin. It wasn't especially large and reminded him of a cage more days than not, but it was gradually beginning to feel like home. He'd brought in lanterns and a real bed – small touches that made it seem marginally more human and inviting. He'd even gotten his hands on a writing desk and some quills and parchment, feeling so pleased with himself when he'd thought of a way to exchange messages with his wife.

They had a son. It had always been within the realm of possibility, his more rational side reminded him. Of course they'd only had the one day together as husband and wife, but that's all it took, really. One day, and now they had a son.

"What does he look like?" he asked.

Bootstrap got to his feet and joined Will by the desk, leaning against its edge. "He favors his mother, I think, though it's hard to say at this age. Doesn't look much like I recall you looking, anyway, though he has your eyes." He reached briefly inside his coat and pulled something out. "Elizabeth sent you a token, by the way."

Will accepted the handkerchief from his father and carefully unfolded it. He fancied that it still smelled faintly of her. Inside its folds were a lock of long, golden brown hair and a small cluster of short hair of a similar shade, each carefully bound with a scrap of ribbon. Somehow the physical evidence made it much more concrete in his mind, which had likely been Elizabeth's intent.

He had a son. A real, living, breathing son. A son who had been alive for months now without his father ever being aware of his existence. A son who would continue to grow for the next nine years before he would ever lay eyes on said father. He would take his first steps, speak his first words, and lose a good number of teeth long before Will would be able to next set foot on land. He would go on adventures, get into fights, and possibly even have his first love. Will hadn't been much older when he'd met the boy's mother, after all.

He brought his hand down sharply on the desk, startling both Bootstrap and himself. "I should be there with them."

"Will…"

"I know it isn't possible, but I should be," Will continued, passion creeping into his voice as the initial numbness began to recede. "It isn't right. No boy should have to grow up without a father."

The word hung in the air for a moment before Bootstrap spoke up.

"Like you did?"

There was something about his father's tone, gentle and yet matter-of-fact, that made Will pause. He passed a weary hand over his forehead before responding. "Yes."

Bootstrap didn't seem offended. They'd both already said everything that needed to be said about the matter. "You're right, of course," he said slowly, seeming to pick his words carefully. "It isn't fair that Elizabeth should have to bear this burden, nor that William should go nearly a decade without meeting his father. But don't you dare consider that you might be anything like me. I chose my path; you had this forced upon you."

"It could have been prevented, though," Will argued.

"How's that?"

"If I'd engaged Jones sooner, perhaps I would have gained the upper hand. Or if I hadn't been foolish enough to attempt running him through. Or if I'd simply fought _better_-"

"If I hadn't attacked and distracted you, perhaps you would have engaged Jones sooner. Or if I'd fought you for longer, perhaps you never would've gotten within Jones's reach at all. Perhaps if I'd done my duty as a husband and father in the first place, your mother would still be alive and we'd all be happily settled somewhere on the English coast, and you'd have a pretty little wife and several children, and none of us would have ever heard of cursed Aztec gold or Davy Jones or Calypso save in passing legend."

Will, finding that he had no response, merely furrowed his brow and sat down on the edge of the desk.

Bootstrap sighed heavily. "You can't do this to yourself, Will – the blame, the what-ifs. I don't count myself among the especially wise, but I know regret, and I can tell you that you're only wasting your time. No matter who or what got you here, this is where you are now. Make the best of it that you can, or you'll only have more regrets to follow."

Will gave his father a small smile. "Are you certain you haven't gained some wisdom in your old age?"

"Just plenty of lessons learned the hard way." Bootstrap reached into his coat pocket again and produced a bulkier parcel than before: a bottle of brandy and two small glasses wrapped in rags. "I've had a bit of coin on me since Barbossa sent me to the depths," he explained as he set the glasses on the desk and poured a bit into each. "Didn't seem right not to spend it when I finally had a chance, so I thought we might toast the newest addition to the family."

Picking up one of the glasses, Will clinked it against the one in Bootstrap's hand. "Health and life to you, William Turner," he said softly. "May you have an easier time of it than your namesakes."

As they each drank, Will glanced over at his father. They'd been apart for nearly twenty years, and while they still had their rough patches, the past year had gone far in repairing their relationship. Perhaps nine years apart from his own son wouldn't be as insurmountable as it seemed. He'd write often to both of them, trusting Elizabeth to share his letters when the time was right. William would know his father, even if it was to be years before they met face-to-face.

Draining the last of his brandy, he briefly rested a hand on his father's shoulder. "Thank you."

Bootstrap looked up in surprise. "For what?"

"For reminding me that it's never too late to start acting like a father."


End file.
